


even after all the promises you've broken to yourself

by the_one_that_fell



Series: the heaviness that i hold in my heart belongs to gravity [5]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Drunk crying, Mentions of Eating Disorder, Platonic Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, drunk cuddling, mentions of homophoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Chyeah, right, dude. Bros don’t let bros walk home alone after bros find bros crying in the bathroom of the volleyball house.” </p>
<p>Bitty gave him an odd look. “That’s very specific for the Bro Code.” </p>
<p>Holster laughed, guiding Bitty out of the bathroom. “I think it’s somewhere in the Bylaws, actually. You can ask Shitty about it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	even after all the promises you've broken to yourself

**Author's Note:**

> tw: mentions of casual homophobia, mentions of past bullying, hints at bitty having an eating disorder, canon typical alcohol abuse, brief mentions of blood
> 
> sort of missing moment from my fic [_and not waving but drowning_ ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6615430)

Something was wrong. The party was pretty standard for a mid-semester Friday night at the volleyball house: Chowder and Farmer were chatting each other’s ears off in the corner, holding hands and being adorable; March and April were decimating Shitty and Ransom in pong; Lardo was making out with Camilla Collins, which- oh, he was  _ so  _ getting deets later;  Dex and Nursey were doing that weird fighting-not-fighting thing that Holster thought might be a kinky sort of foreplay for them, though he’d never say that to their faces; and Holster was swaying along to the beat of the music with a solo cup of highly questionable jungle juice clutched in his hand. All-in-all everything seemed normal, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

March’s iPod shuffled to the next song -  _ Love on Top _ \- and no one paid it much attention. And then it hit him. 

“Hey, bro.” Holster sidled up between Shitty and Ransom, clasping Ransom’s shoulder possible a little harder than he meant to. “You seen Bits?” 

Both Ransom and Shitty shook their heads. “Nah, man,” Ransom said, not looking up from the game. “He’s not dancing?” 

“No, and it’s Beyonce. Did he pick up?” Holster would be so proud of his bro if he was finally relaxing enough to hook up. Little dude deserved to get some without constantly looking over his shoulder. 

Shitty snorted. “Does Bits ever pick up? Motherfucker’s too classy for that shit.” 

“What kinda southern belle do you take him for?” Ransom added with a laugh. “Proper gentleman. Gotta wine-’im and dine-’im, y’know?” 

They weren’t totally wrong, though Holster was almost certain that Bitty  _ would _ pick up if he felt safe enough. Bro was hot, no doubt about it; it’s not as if he lacked willing partners. 

“I’m gonna look for him, make sure he’s not vomming in someone’s room,” Holster said. Then, he looked up at March and April and winked. “Wreck shit, ladies.” 

“Traitor!” Ransom called after him as he stumbled off, laughing. Maybe Bits had picked up, or maybe he’d gone back to the Haus, or maybe he  _ was _ vomming. Bro had been on drink number five last Holster had seen him, which was usually as far as he went, but Holster was a big brother by nature - he worried. 

The second floor bathroom door was ajar when Holster climbed up the stairs, so he shouldered it open without preamble. “Yo, Bits, you in here-? Oh. Dude.” 

Bits was slumped against the wall and Holster quickly kneeled down to looked him over: still conscious, no visible injuries or blood, no vomit anywhere visible - but, fuck, was he  _ crying _ ? 

“Bits? What’s wrong?” Holster asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Internally, though, he was freaking the  _ fuck out _ . Bitty wasn’t supposed to be sad. Bitty was never sad. Bitty was a literal fucking ray of sunshine and he would fucking crush whatever evil motherfucker made Bitty  _ sad _ -

“Nothing,” Bitty said, voice small. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly not, bro.” Bitty huffed a laugh and wiped hurriedly at the tears on his cheeks. “Bits, c’mon, who do I need to beat up? I will fuck up whoever did this to you-”

“It’s nothing, Holster.” Bitty gently pushed Holster back and pulled himself up off the ground, wobbling dangerously. “Seriously, no one hurt me, I promise, you can turn off Dad Mode.” 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Holster asked, gripping at Bitty’s shoulders to steady him. “C’mon, Bits, let me take you home. You’re kind of a mess.”

And he was - blonde hair mussed, eyes and nose red and wet, lips swollen from the way Holster knew Bitty gnawed at them when he was upset. There was a stain on Bitty’s shirt that looked and smelled like jungle juice and Bitty himself was curled inward, arms wrapped around himself, looking the smallest Holster had ever seen.

“Okay,” Bitty said softly, wiping at his nose. “I can walk home fine, Holster, really. Stay and enjoy the party.” 

“Chyeah, right, dude. Bros don’t let bros walk home alone after bros find bros crying in the bathroom of the volleyball house.” 

Bitty gave him an odd look. “That’s very specific for the Bro Code.” 

Holster laughed, guiding Bitty out of the bathroom. “I think it’s somewhere in the Bylaws, actually. You can ask Shitty about it.” 

They didn’t run into anyone else from the team on their way out of the house, which was a blessing. April waved at him from the living room and gave Bitty a concerned look, but no one stopped them to talk. Maybe they could see the tears drying on Bitty’s cheeks or the look of sheer panic on Holster’s face and knew to give them space. Or maybe everyone was just too drunk to notice. 

They stumbled down the road in silence, Holster shooting off a text to Ransom to say he’d found Bitty and they were headed back to the Haus. He hoped it came out intelligible, because drunk texting was hard enough sitting still and Holster was pretty sure the sidewalk was moving. 

“So,” he finally said, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Bitty didn’t respond, just wrapped his arms around himself and shivered in the cold night. Everyone on the team had lectured Bitty at least once about investing in a  _ real _ winter coat. 

Holster sighed. “Bits.”

“It’s...a boy,” Bitty relented, rubbing at the back of his neck. “A stupid, straight boy.” 

“Oh, Bits.” Holster patted his arm awkwardly, unsure of what to say. He'd been rejected by a girl because she was gay, once, but that wasn’t really the same. He had  _ no idea _ how to handle this situation. “That's, um…”

“It’s dumb, I know,” Bitty said sadly. “That's rule number one, never fall for straight boys. I didn't mean to.” Holster was horrified to hear Bitty sniff, voice strained and small. “It snuck up on me.” 

Holster wasn't as unobservant as people liked to believe. He’d seen the way Bitty blushed and stammered around Jack, had thought Bitty’s crush has been a little sad but mostly endearing. Everyone got crushes on unattainable people from time to time. And it was such a step up from Jack directing his asshole routine at Bitty like he has the year before. 

“Bits,” Holster said, sitting down on the curb next to Bitty. “It’s not dumb.” 

“It is.” Bitty said, resting his forehead against his knees. “I know it is. I learned my lesson with Jensen Tucker in eleventh grade, I know how this goes, I worked so hard not to  _ ever _ get my hopes up, even at Samwell, even with  _ y’all- _ ”

Holster almost got frostbite from how quickly Bitty froze. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but suddenly Bitty was on his feet, backing away as fast as his drunk legs would take him. 

“N-not that it’s any of y’all, I swear, I-I wouldn’t- You know I  _ never _ look in the locker room, I promise I don’t, even when Shitty’s  _ trying _ to get people to look, I never-”

“Woah, woah, Bitty.” Holster stood and instantly regretted it. Bitty flinched as he rose to his full height, still scrambling backwards.  _ Fuck _ , Holster thought to himself.  _ What the fuck happened to Bits in Georgia?  _

“Bitty,” he said again, softer. “It’s okay if you do- if you have a crush on someone on the team. It’s okay.” 

“No,” Bitty whispered, head bowed. “It’s really not.” 

And that broke Holster’s heart. His throat tightened and his eyes burned, but he shook aside those feelings to take a small, slow step towards Bitty. “Bro, let’s get you home.” 

Bitty nodded, letting Holster shepherd him down the street. His coordination wasn’t great, stumbling over cracks and icy patches on the sidewalk, but Bitty kept a healthy foot of space between himself and Holster. Holster desperately wanted to close that gap and pull Bitty to his chest and never, ever let him go, but figured that probably wouldn’t go over as well as his mega-drunk lizard-brain thought it would. 

Three blocks from the Haus, Bitty slipped on some tamped-down snow and fell off the curb, just barely missing Holster. Sober, Holster might’ve been able to catch Bitty. Instead, Bitty fell into the street, head smacking the asphalt with a nasty  _ crack _ and body landing haphazardly in a dirty, half-melted slush pile that had once been a snowbank. If Holster wasn’t five seconds away from crying he might’ve laughed. 

“Nnnggh.” Bitty groaned, clutching at his head, eyes clamped shut. Holster squatted down next to Bitty, ignoring the tears on his cheeks for the small amount of blood welling up on his forehead. 

“Bro,” he whispered, pulling Bitty’s hands away so he could see the damage. “Fuck, bro, are you okay?” 

“No,” Bitty sighed, grabbing at Holster’s shirt to pull himself into a sitting position. “I don’t think I am.” 

“Physically,” Holster clarified. Bitty huffed. 

“I’ll be fine,” he relented. “Probably.” He was shivering, though, the slush soaking through his pants. Holster grimaced and shrugged out of his jacket, wrapping it around Bitty’s thin shoulders. 

“C’mon, dude,” Holster said. “I’ll carry you if I have to, but we need to get you home before you freeze to death or, like, trip in front of a moving car.” 

Bitty groaned again, almost a whine. “Leave me here to die in shame.” 

Holster sighed. “No can do, Bitty Bits. Jack would, like, straight-up murder me. Not kidding.”

Instead of blushing or protesting or chirping, Bitty just laid back down on the road, turning his face away from Holster. Holster knew, from experience, that drunk Bitty was a hot mess. But this was a  _ whole new level _ . “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Trying not to jostle Bitty’s head, Holster scooped him up under his armpits and hoisted him to his feet. Then, as Bitty wobbled to regain balance, Holster turned around and crouched down. “Get on. I have to do this for Lards, like, once a month.” 

With a put-upon sigh, Bitty scrambled onto Holster’s back, chin hooked over his shoulder. Holster could feel Bitty’s breath on his cheek, could smell the (unfortunately) familiar mix of Coke, Svedka, and Keystone Light. 

“Bruh,” he said as they wandered down the empty street. “You weigh, like, as much as my baby sister did when she was twelve.”

Bitty huffed. “There’s no need to be rude. Let me down, I’ll walk home myself.” 

Holster grimaced. “No, Bits, dude, I'm sorry, that was- 

“It’s fine,” Bitty said softly. “I just...don’t like when people talk about my weight, I guess.” 

Shitty had mentioned something, once, about Bitty’s bad habit of drinking on an empty stomach. Holster had wrestled for a bit in high school, knew tons of guys who’d starved themselves and gorged themselves to qualify for certain weight classes, but there was something in Bitty’s voice that reminded him of his sister Amanda, back when she was sixteen and Ma had to throw out their bathroom scale because she’d caught Mands using it obsessively. There was some hesitation, maybe. Fear. Self-loathing. Holster squeezed Bitty’s thighs where they were tucked under his arms.

“There any pie in the kitchen tonight?” He asked, segueing into what he thought might be a safer topic of conversation. “Got the drunchies hardcore.” 

To his surprise, Bitty shook his head, nose rubbing back and forth against Holster’s neck. “No,” Bitty murmured. “Wasn’t in the mood today, I guess.” 

It took everything Holster had not to fall into total and utter panic. It was one thing to find Bitty crying at a party - Holster was an emotional dude and had experienced his fair share of shit-faced melancholy. But Bitty not wanting to bake? That was like  _ Jack  _ not wanting to talk about  _ hockey _ . About a thousand warning bells went off in Holster’s head. 

“Oh, okay, no biggie,” he said, trying to keep his voice light and casual. “I think Rans stocked up on Doritos yesterday.”

They were almost to the Haus, its dingy porch light shining out like a beacon in the dark. Holster picked up the pace, shivering as the slush from Bitty’s pants soaked into his shirt. He considered himself pretty immune to the cold - he and Ransom were known to play frisbee on the snow-covered quad in their basketball shorts and Nike sandals - but Bitty was a cold weight on his back and the temperatures seemed to be dropping quickly as the night deepened. The Haus’ heating was sketchy at best, but Holster hurried towards it as fast as he could. 

Holster headed straight for the stairs as soon as they were inside, ignoring Bitty’s protests that he could make it the rest of the way by himself. “The Holster Express is non-stop, bro,” he said with a grin. “And you purchased a ticket all the way to Bittyville.” 

Bitty groaned and let his forehead fall against Holster’s shoulder. “That was bad.” But he laughed, so Holster counted that as a win.

Bitty’s room was impeccably neat when Holster ducked through the doorway, polar opposite of how the attic looked currently. Clothes were in the hamper or the closet, books were lined on the shelf or stacked on the desk, and even his posters were uncrumpled and evenly hung. Holster came from a large family of large children; tidiness was not something he thought he’d ever get accustomed to. Secretly Holster hoped that his future wife would be as big a slob as him, because no neat freak should ever have to suffer his messes. 

Without warning, Holster dumped Bitty on the bed, laughing as Bitty squawked in surprise. He fell back to land next to Bitty, stretching out his 6’4” frame across the bed diagonally. Bitty laughed and scooted over to put half a foot between them. Holster frowned. 

“You know you don’t have to, like, Gay Seat me, dude,” he said, eyeing the noticeable gap. “We’re bros, aren’t we?” 

Bitty’s face turned stony and he pointedly looked up at the ceiling, away from Holster’s gaze. “I don’t know what that means.” 

Holster got the feeling Bitty  _ did _ know what he meant, but he still said, “Like, when two dudes go to the movie together and leave a seat between them so no one thinks they’re gay? You don’t have to do that with us, you know. It’s Samwell. You don’t have to ‘no homo’ at Samwell.”

“There’s a difference,” Bitty said, voice icier than Holster had ever heard it. “Between two boys who’re comfortable in their masculinity and a pathetic, little, gay boy snuggling up to his straight teammates.”

  
“Bro,” Holster said, sitting up. “No one thinks that-”

Bitty laughed, turning away from Holster to rest on his side. “Oh,  _ trust me _ . Plenty of people think that.” 

“But, it’s Samwell-” Holster started, stopping when he realized Bitty’s shoulders were shaking. “Bits?” 

“Yeah, it’s Samwell,” Bitty whispered, sniffling a little. “But it’s still a sports team. I’m still surrounded by jocks and bros who think I’m trying to sneak a peak in the locker room. I still get funny looks, sometimes. I got a beer bottle thrown at me by some frat boys a few weekends ago. My roommate last year still got changed in the bathroom every day so I wouldn’t look at him. Just because it ain’t Georgia doesn’t mean it ain’t...hard.” 

Though he would blame it on the Cuervo in the morning, Holster could feel tears welling up in his own eyes. Were this one of his little sisters or Ransom, he would’ve squashed Bitty in a big bear hug until the tears turned to exasperated laughter. Instead, he reached out tentatively and took Bitty’s hand in his. Bitty flinched but didn’t pull away. 

“M’sorry, bro,” he whispered, very aware of how watery his voice sounded. “I...fuck. I’m sorry.” 

Bitty sniffed and shrugged. “S’not your fault.” 

Holster shuffled a little closer, until their shoulders were almost touching. “Has anyone on the team...like, specifically...I don’t know, said something to you? I swear, I’ll beat his face in, even if it was, like, Jack.” Part of Holster now wished he’d beaten Jack’s face in last year, when he’d been such a dick to Bitty. “Actually, scratch that, especially if it’s Jack.” 

Bitty shook his head. “No, not to my face. It’s fine, no one’s threatened me or anything.” 

Holster frowned. “Not to your face? Bits.” 

With a shaky breath, Bitty turned to face Holster. “It’s nothing. Some of the other guys...well...Chowder overheard them saying some...not nice things about the way I act around Jack. I think Dex and Nursey had to keep him from confronting them-”

“Who was it?” Holster clenched the fist of his free hand, and from Bitty’s sucked-in gasp he realized he must’ve tightened his grip on Bitty’s hand. “Seriously, Bits, when Rans is Captain next year he and I are gonna  _ need _ to know which guys need a talking to.”

Bitty sighed. “Will you promise not to, like, punch anyone?” 

Holster’s heart said  _ no _ but he sighed and agreed. “Yeah, okay.” 

Bitty narrowed his eyes. “That includes kicking, biting, and checking.” 

Holster knew he was probably pouting, but he nodded. “Yeah, okay, Bits, whatever you want.” 

“It was Macky and Gutter, mostly. Chowder didn’t mention who they were talking with, but they were the ones he tried to fight.” 

If it was Macky and Gutter - two ugly motherfuckers from Shitty’s line - then they’d probably been shooting the shit with Scrotes and Collie. Macky and Scrotes were Seniors, but the other two...Holster had plans for them. 

(Non-violent plans, unfortunately. He would have to turn to Ransom’s genius to plan something sneakier and more emotionally devastating.)

“Fuckers,” Holster said.”You sure I can’t just...beat them to death with my hockey stick? Just a little bit?” 

Despite himself, Bitty snorted with laughter. “No, Holtzy, please, just leave them be. I don’t need  _ you _ getting expelled because some meatheads hurt my feelings.”  

“Aw, Bits, you care.” Holster slung his arm over Bitty’s chest and pulled him into one of his infamous bone-crushing octopus hugs. “You  _ lo-o-ove _ me.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Bitty choked out, writhing underneath all of Holster’s 226 pounds. “Get  _ off _ of me, you giant sack of crazy.” 

“Nope!” Holster said, snuggling in closer. “Feel the love, Bitty Bits.”

Had this been Jack or Ransom, the hug would’ve quickly turned into a wrestling match. As it were, Bitty eventually stopped floundering and, with a dramatic sigh, let Holster cuddle him. “You’re worse than Shitty, I swear,” he said, poking Holster in the side. “How does Ransom deal with you?” 

“Tenderly,” Holster said, batting his eyelashes. “Lovingly.  _ Passionately _ .”

“TMI,” Bitty said, making an exaggerated gagging sound. “Speaking of  _ no homo _ ...”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Holster asked, smile fading. “When Rans and I make jokes like that?” 

Bitty shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Y’all never really mean it maliciously or, like...the ‘gay’ part of it is never the butt of the joke, y’know?”

Holster didn’t feel mollified by this answer. “Okay, but like...if we ever go too far, tell me, okay? Like, get a squirt bottle and spray me with it or something.”

“Could I use that tactic to get you to stop leaving your dirty dishes in the sink?” Bitty asked, hopeful. 

“That is  _ rude _ , you know it’s Shits who does that.” 

“Seriously, though, Samwell is better than your high school, right?” Holster asked, concern gnawing in his stomach. He hadn’t been aware of the things Bitty still dealt with - what if he was still getting bullied, no better than life back in Georgia? 

“Oh, well, yeah,” Bitty said, sounded surprised. “I mean, there’s so many out people here and support groups and not nearly as much harassment or, like, general homophobia. Aside from a few incidents-” Holster gritted his teeth. “-Samwell’s been a dream come true. Almost.” 

“Almost?” Holster raised an eyebrow. 

Bitty looked a bit flustered. “Oh, you know, you build something up in your head and then when it happens and it isn’t the same...it’s disappointing, I guess.” 

Bitty paused and noticed Holster’s confused face. With a deep breath, he continued. 

“I just...it’s been a year and a half out of Georgia and I haven’t had more than a couple of dates and awkward hookups. I was hoping...I had hoped to have found...something. Someone. By now.” 

Holster rested his forehead against Bitty’s shoulder. “You’ll find love, Bits, I promise.”

Bitty sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t even mean love, really. I’m not looking for my soulmate. I just want someone to want me for more than an hour at Annie’s or twenty minutes in the stacks at Founder’s.” Holster bit his tongue to stop himself from asking for deets.  _ There’s a time and a place, bro, _ he thought. “I just want someone to tell me I won’t be single forever. That I’m...dateable, I guess. Wanted.” 

For not the first time that night, Holster wasn’t sure how to respond. “You’ll find someone,” he murmured, tightening his arms around Bitty’s waist. “You’re  _ Bitty _ ! You’re fun and sweet and a helluva baker and, like, probably a total freak in the sack-OW!” Bitty smacked his arm, making a hilariously indignant noise. “Rude, Bits.  _ As I was saying _ , you’re, like, super awesome, dude. You probs haven’t found anyone yet because you spend all your time with us loser heteros.” Bitty laughed softly, turning to lie on his back. Holster didn’t loosen his grip, instead shifting to let Bitty use his chest as a pillow. 

“Thanks,” Bitty murmured. “Seriously, thank you for putting up with me tonight.” 

“Got your back, bro.” Holster rested his cheek against Bitty’s head, breathing in the scent of his fancy, mint shampoo. “Like, for real, man. Day or night, whenever you need me. Rans, too, though he’s notorious for sleeping through things like phones ringing and fire alarms going off, so…” 

Bitty chuckled and let his eyes flutter closed. “I never thought...back home I never...not in a million years…”

“Thought you’d be cuddling a jock and talking about boys?” Holster guessed, grinning down at Bitty. 

“Mhmm, something like that.” He yawned, and Holster could see him struggling against sleep. Which is why he wasn’t expecting it when Bitty asked, very quietly, “Have you ever been in a serious relationship?” 

“Oh. Um.” Bitty was looking up at him, all big, brown doe-eyes and curious expression. “Yeah, one. Megan Koenig.  We dated all through middle and high school, broke up in the middle of her freshman year of college. She, uh. Met someone new.” 

Bitty gasped, and were he not half-asleep on Holster he might’ve held his hand to his heart. “That’s awful, I’m so sorry.” 

Holster shrugged, grimacing. “Eh. At the time it was rough. I thought she and I were, like,  _ it _ . Soulmates or whatever. But then I got to Samwell and I  _ got it _ , y’know? I changed so much my freshman year alone, and now I’m realizing she did, too. We’re totally different people than we were in high school. I...never really was able to forgive her for just dropping me like that for a new guy, but. I get it.”

“That still sucks,” Bitty murmured. Then, after a pause, he asked, “What’s it like, being in love?” 

Holster laughed. “Bro, what is this? The Spanish Inquisition?” Bitty’s cheeks turned pink, which only made Holster laugh harder. “Oh, Bits, you got it bad for Ja- that guy, don’t you?” 

Bitty made a funny whining noise and buried his face in Holster’s chest. “Leave me alo-o-one. I’m just curious. Take pity on me, I’m sad.” 

“Aw, Bits.” Holster patted his head, then got distracted by how soft his hair was. Holster’s own hair was coarse and dry, especially in the winter when it was basically straw. “Your hair’s like a fucking puppy, bro.” 

Bitty sighed. “I can’t believe I was trying to have a heart-to-heart with you. You’re, like, five years old.”

“Be careful how you talk to your elders,” Holster said, mimicking his grandfather’s voice. “Kids these days, no respect.” 

Bitty snorted. “You  _ are _ old. You and Jack are old men.”

“If we’re old then  _ you’re _ a baby. Baby Bitty. So young and innocent.” Holster pinched Bitty’s cheek, which earned him a loud slap on the arm. “Wittle Bittle. Isn’t it past your bedtime?” 

“I’d already  _ be _ asleep if there wasn’t a drunk giant in my bed.” Bitty poked Holster’s head, narrowly missing his eye. “You, sir, are corrupting my youth.” 

Holster snorted. “That’s me, your friendly neighborhood youth corrupter. Next we’ll go deal drugs and vandalize school property.” 

“Ooh, Mr. Birkholtz, such a bad boy,” Bitty teased. “How do the ladies resist your wily charm?” 

“Very easily,” Holster said, grinning down at Bitty. “Ransom says I have no game.” 

Bitty snorted. “If  _ you _ have no game then  _ I’m _ doomed to spinsterhood. You’re, like, the second most- no, okay,  _ third _ most charismatic person I know.”

“Bitty,” Holster said, biting back a smile. “You know, like, six people. That’s not the compliment you think it is.”

Bitty sighed dramatically. “Okay, you’re the...third most handsome guy I know.” 

“Again. Six people, one of whom is  _ Lardo _ . Also, is Rans at the top of both of these lists? Because I’m not  _ disagreeing _ , but also: fuck you.” 

Bitty mumbled something like, “Wish  _ someone _ would,” and scratched at his head. “Okay. You’re the funniest- no. Um. Smart- uh. Darn it.” 

“Oh, my  _ God _ , Bitty, is it really that hard to compliment me?” Holster asked through hysterical laughter. “You love Rans and Shitty so much more than you love me, this is so unfair.”

Bitty huffed. “Holster, I’m  _ drunk _ and  _ trying _ . You’re the most  _ caring _ person I know, how about that? You’ve got the biggest goddamn heart and you secretly cry while watching Animal Planet because you hate seeing animals in captivity and you gave me a piggyback ride  _ all the way home _ and now you’re here cuddling me because I’m a hot mess and you’re one of my best friends, okay? I didn’t have a whole lotta friends back home and I never thought I’d have any, really, on this team and now I’m living in the Haus and I’m  _ out _ to y’all and- and you’re just a good person, Adam Birkholtz, and you’ll find your soulmate because you deserve it  _ so, so much- _ ”

In a flash, Holster hoisted them both into a sitting position so he could wrap Bitty up in a real, tight hug. “Oh, my God, Bitty, you’re such a weepy drunk, c’mere bro.” 

“Shut up,” Bitty grumbled against his shoulder. “You’re crying, too.” 

“Love ya, Bits,” Holster said, decidedly  _ not _ sniffing or blinking back tears. “And you’re gonna find love, too, okay? Like, for real, I’m gonna be there at your wedding and I’m gonna remind you about tonight and we’re gonna laugh because of  _ course _ you’re gonna find your soulmate. I promise, okay?” 

“Okay,” Bitty said, nodding. “Okay.” 

“Can you imagine a Haus wedding, though?” Holster asked, leaning them both back against Bitty’s pillows. “Do you think Shitty would be my flower girl if I asked him?” 

Bitty grinned. “I don’t think you’d even have to ask. But I hope you’re prepared to have a naked lawyer throwing flower petals at your grandmother.” 

“Well…” Holster said, scratching at the side of his neck. “I honestly don’t think Grammy would oppose. She’s...feisty.” 

“Ew.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I think I’d like Lardo to be my best man,” Bitty said, playing with a loose string at the hem of Holster’s shirt. “She’d throw a hell of a bachelor party.” 

Holster grinned at the thought. “I hope my future wife likes you guys. I think that’s why I kinda hope I’ll meet her here - so she’d know straight off the bat what she’s signing up for.” 

“Good luck with that,” Bitty said drily. “Have you tried the volleyball team? They seem pretty immune to us at this point.” 

Holster snorted, absently petting at Bitty’s hair. It really was soft. He needed to steal whatever conditioner Bitty used. “I’m going on a double with Ransom and March and March’s friend April next weekend. I’m pretty sure it’s just because April wants to vet Ransom but I dunno...she’s sorta really pretty. Maybe something’ll happen.” 

Bitty hummed in response, tilting his head every so slightly into Holster’s hand. Holster scratched at Bitty’s scalp a little, the way his sister, Allie, always liked. Though Holster would never say it out loud, Bitty almost  _ purred _ as he scratched his head. 

“We should double sometime,” Holster said around a yawn. “There’s this cute guy in my Behavioral Economics class.”

Bitty groaned. Holster ignored him. 

“No, okay, hear me out. Tall, dark hair, like, super buff- I think he rows? Anyway, hella gay ‘cause I was dece friends with his boyfriend last year but Jeff went abroad so I  _ know _ they broke up and- right, this guy’s name is Liam and he’s super nice and once I gave him half of one of those scones you made, with the little chocolate chips? Yeah, and the noises he made were, like, orgasmic and I’m pretty sure he’d agree to marry you for your baking alone.”

Bitty sighed. “Yeah, alright. What could it hurt?” 

“You won’t regret this, Bit-tay,” Holster said. “He’s, like, totally your type.” 

“And you know my type, how?” 

_ Ah, shit _ .  _ Don’t say he looks like Jack. Don’t say he looks like-  _ “He looks like Justin Trudeau.” 

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Bitty hissed. “Goodness, you mention a  _ teeny _ crush in  _ one _ game of truth or dare and it’s  _ chirp-city _ all over here.” He pouted up at Holster, a little too drunk to pull off the puppy-dog eyes effectively. “Does he really?” 

“More than any other eligible gay man I know,” Holster said solemnly. “Bruh, he’s dreamy. Say yes.” 

“Already did, Boozy McGee. Now that you’ve secured my future husband, I think it’s time for bed.” 

Holster hummed and scooted further down on the bed, dragging Bitty with him. “Yeah, alright. Night, bro.” 

Bitty was silent for a long moment. Then: “Are you kidding me right now?” 

“Bitty,” Holster said, not at all whining. “The attic is  _ so far. _ And, like, super drafty.” 

“You’re not kidding.” 

“I don’t even know how you get this room so warm, I  _ know _ Shitty has a monopoly on the thermostat-”

“-literally just a flight of stairs and you’re from  _ Buffalo _ , it’s not  _ that _ cold-”

“-space heater? Because Rans banned me from getting one ‘cause he thinks I’ll set the attic on fire-”

“- _ fine _ ,” Bitty finally huffed, slapping a hand over Holster’s mouth. “But I’m changing into pajamas.” 

Holster grimaced. “Yeah, your pants are gross and wet, bro.” 

“Thanks, Hotzy.” 

“See, I got game,” Holster said as Bitty stood and crossed the room to his chest of drawers. “Charmed my way into  _ your _ bed, didn’t I?” 

Bitty turned and glared at him. “I can still kick you out.” 

Holster mimed zipping his lips and - very dramatically - covered his eyes as Bitty slipped into sweatpants and a sleep shirt. He himself shucked off his jeans clumsily, climbing into Bitty’s bed and pulling the covers around him in a cocoon. Bitty huffed and pulled some of the blankets away from him.

“Scooch, or I’m kicking you out,” he said, poking at Holster until he shifted over. 

It took a minute or so of arranging blankets and limbs until they were both settled; the rickety, single bed was never really meant to hold more than one hockey player. Once they were comfortable, Bitty reached over and turned out the light. 

“Night, Bits,” Holster said, shifting to face Bitty. 

Bitty looked up at him, dark eyes glinting in the dark of the room. “Night, Holster. Sweet dreams.” 

“Like, dreaming of sugar plums?” Holster asked, giggling a little.    
“Sure. G’night.” 

“Do you dream of baking? Like, have you ever had any weird, baking wet dreams?” 

“Have I ev- good  _ Lord _ , no. Good night.” 

Holster sighed and slung an arm over Bitty’s chest, pulling him in like a teddy bear. “Yeah, alright. Sleep tight, Bits.” 

It was easy, drifting off next to someone else, listening to their breathing even out and basking in the warmth they gave off. Holster had missed this since his breakup with Megan, had really only had it a handful of times with Ransom  or with a one-night-stand who stayed the night. Who knew it would be the cuddling part of a relationship he yearned for, the simple, chaste intimacy of it. Holster felt himself smile as a sleepy warmth settled over him. Bitty’s eyes fluttered closed. 

“...do you think the geese by the pond are happy? Like, would they be happier in the wild? Should we try and help them?” 

Bitty groaned. “Oh, my God, Holster, go to sleep.” 

It only took a few more false starts before they fell asleep, tangled together as the other residents of the Haus slowly trickled back home. 

**Author's Note:**

> Holster and Bitty are like those drunk girls in the bathroom who serenade you/tell you you’re pretty/cry on you so hard that you wake up the next morning with mascara stains on your arms. (...speaking from experience…)
> 
> Lord let them never get wine-drunk together. 
> 
> on [tumblr](http://www.eve-baird.tumblr.com)


End file.
